I can still feel you under my skinand it makes me shiver.If you took a scalpel and sliced lengthwiseup each of my arms and pulled back the skin from the musclethere you'd be. A layer of you spread out oh-so-thinlywhere no one should ever beunless I say so. Keep your clever comments,self-serving complimentsand conceited charm.I know I don't want them.You thought you'd convinced me,like I'm so easily convinced, but I knew. You wanted to take what was not yours to take, but only mine to give. So get out from under my skin.Doesn't matter. Even if you don't want to,you'll ooze out of my pores eventually.And then I'll scrub myself clean of youwith exfoliant,or a loofah,or a pumice stone,leaving only raw, naked skinbehind.